We’ve made it to the Guardian’s G2, the Welsh language is officially ‘cwl’.
   When did it all begin? Was it with Dafydd ap Gwilym, or not to mention that Glendower fella from Shakespeare?
   Not since John Peel played the likes of Datblygu and Anrhefn……’development’ and ‘disorder’ don’t sound quite the same.
   Apparently, it’s all down to a heavy metal band called Alffa and the 1 million Spotify plays for their single ‘Gwenyn’.
   And, of course, Gwenno brings out her latest album ‘Le Kov’ in Cornish and Welsh sounds so modern.
   It’s great to be celebrated by journalist and Welsh-speaker from Y Wyddgrug / Mold Rhiannon Lucy Coslett whose dad was dead on when he observed that the language is the water we swim in. ( Especially for the Whales and Carlo prince of the orcas with his underwater kingdom!).
   People of all kinds are now learning Welsh : big, small, fat , tall  ; but let’s not forget one of my heroes Ali Yassine.
   Ali’s a Cymro from Kaairdiff of Somalian descent who’s been on the scene for quite some time and was the best announcer we ever had at Cardiff City FC. Like myself, an avid Adar Gleision,who before games  would play the Super Furries’ ‘The Man Don’t Give A Fuck’ ( about legendary player and nutter Robin Friday) and Dafydd Iwan’s stirring anthem ‘Yma o hyd’.
   Now all we get is machine music, techno-garbage to addle the brain.
   It is actually heartening to see a double page spread in G2 praising the rise of the Welsh language and Coslett’s right that it can’t be separated from the preponderance of ‘Cofiwch Dryweryn’ graffiti, though she fails to mention the emergence of Yes Cymru and ,with it, a renewed interest in independence.
   In the same newspaper the generally excellent writer Paul Mason recently lumped in my hometown of Merthyr with Mansfield and Hull as post-industrial places ripe for Faragism.
   He totally discounted our many differences and ,when I wrote a letter to that effect, they didn’t publish it.  
  Historically, we were represented in Westminster for many years by a renegade Labour MP S.O. Davies, who was way ahead of his time on devolution and embraced our self-determination fully. We had a Plaid-run Council in the 70s and left-wing nationalist Emrys Roberts came close to winning the seat when Labour’s Ted Rowlands was first elected.
   More recently, in a single year’s existence our local branch of Yes Cymru has flourished and , significantly, took the lead to organise the protest against Nigel Farage’s visit.
   Several street stalls and one at the Rising festival proved very successful, with so many positive responses ; perhaps most surprisingly from staunch Labourites who had come round to Indy-ism ; more because of their total disillusionment with Labour in Cardiff Bay and Labour councils failing to tackle austerity  and carrying out policies akin to the Tories.
   Undoubtedly, there are disaffected working-class voters in Merthyr who support Farage ,with many spurred on by the anti-immigration propaganda .
   However,there are also many tired with a failed Westmonster and British state which has never ( under Tories and Labour) improved their lives to any degree. Labour’s dreadful policies on health, education and our economy in Cymru only add to this need for an alternative.
   The cultural distinctions are equally vital and cannot be distinguished from politics.
   A Welsh language revival is wonderful, yet private companies continue to ignore their responsibilities.
   Crucially, the WAG’s plan for Welsh in English language schools is seriously flawed. It anticipates widespread usage yet the reality is there has to be a concerted scheme for training Primary staff and teacher-trainers, together with a curriculum which puts our history and literature at the very centre not margin.
   As to Secondary schools, Welsh is often taken as a half GCSE and , like all languages, given scant importance in terms of training and funding. On the most pragmatic level, it should be fully backed as providing career opportunities. On a cultural level, it must be closely linked to the study of music, literature and history.
   At least the new curriculum does acknowledge the chance for theme-based learning : an old idea which became buried as the obsession with testing grew.
   Welsh could easily become ‘un-cwl’ again, like the music of the 90s.
   It shouldn’t be the ‘secret language’ Coslett finds so enticing ; rather an everyday one, however humdrum.
   Independence does not guarantee this:look at Ireland where, ironically, republican Belfast is at the forefront of a Gaelic revival.  
   We need policies and a grassroots movement committed to revolutionary changes ; even in Welsh-language schools our history and music are side-lined and both are inextricably connected to the language.
   As a learner, I’m excited by the opportunities available for adults, but this should be reciprocated for young people who, far too often, leave to use their talents elsewhere.
 
                                       
 
 
 
 
 
CWTCH
 
You need to be aware
‘cwtch’ is spelt with a ‘c’ not ‘s’
(which is the Anglicized version).
 
That there will almost certainly
be a café near you
with that very name.
 
You need to distinguish
between ‘cwtch dan staer’ and embracing,
though the two could be combined.
 
You must be wary of anyone
who translates it as ‘hugging’
( see ‘hiraeth’, ‘hwyl’  and ‘gwerin’) .
 
You have to cross the border
and ignore the Prince of Wales bridge
to appreciate its loving warmth.
 
‘Gis a cwtch ‘en!’
is not a come on ,
though men don’t say it to men.
 
The perfect scenario is to have one
in a caffi of the same name
whilst sharing ‘pice ar y maen’.
 
‘Cwtch’ is an easier way into Cymraeg
than, say, ‘gwasanaethau’ ;
scientists agree, even whales do it.  
​

 
   I’ve been plugging and blogging about singer-songwriter Thea Gilmore for far too long. My friend Andrew (who introduced me to her music in the first place on one of his special cassettes) reckons I even got a credit on the selected cd ‘Recorded Delivery’ , though I think it might be a different ‘Mike’.
   If he’s right, then I’m dead chuffed.
   A few weeks back our local band of Theaphiles ( myself, Ian and Andrew) attended her gig at the intimate, if a bit sweaty converted chapel and pizza venue Acapela in Pentyrch, which she decided not to try and pronounce. It seemed to me like her arrival centre stage after too long in the wings.
   Dylan wanes, Waits has disappeared, Tom Russell’s equally neglected and our own Meic Stevens continues to awkwardly insist on singing in his native tongue, which relegates him in the eyes of the Anglo-centric media.
   The gig at Acapela – where a congregation of avid fans gathered – highlighted one of her best ever albums, the latest ‘Small World Turning’ ; even though the predecessor ‘The Counterweight’ was rightly lauded.
   ‘This is why I liked her in the first place’ commented Andrew, though she’s never lost it through the years. Ian was open-mouthed, in awe.
   The concert had it all : Thea in resounding voice backed by husband and producer Nigel Stonier and multi-instrumentalist Matt Owens, who was also support act.
   Many songs from the new album were featured like ‘Cutteslowe Walls’ which describes an area in her native Oxford where the walls separated rich and poor –
‘She recalls all kind of trouble
If she played in the shadow of the Cutteslowe walls’
   This apt description is brought home in the final verse with references to food banks and the homeless.
   ‘The Revisionist’, like ‘Glory’ and ‘Blowback’ are far more cutting , dark songs, which show that, despite her ever-catchy tunes, Thea can go for the jugular when it comes to the hypocrisy and right-wing populism of today.
    ‘Throwing hatred like confetti
Drinking populism neat’
   In ‘Blowback’ the character has wide appeal on the media, yet –
‘He sows those coins into the earth
 And fences off his land’
   If you ever wondered what kind of songs the Bob Dylan of ‘Hard Rain’ would be writing today, then here’s your answer.
   She asks the audience ‘Who needs Boris Johnson?’ to which one man replies ‘I do!’  ( my mate Andrew responds with ‘Fuck off!’).
   Her song for her talkative and creative son, ‘Don’t Dim Your Lights for Anyone’ touches anyone whose children do not fit readily into a system which craves bland obedience. It’s an anthem for the kind of young, rebellious spirits who have taken the lead in protests against global warming –
   ‘Some trust in God
Some just pass through,
But me my love
I trust in you’ 
   Interspersed between these wonderful songs from ‘Small World Turning’ were a series of her classics such as ‘Old Soul’ , ‘This Girl’ and ‘Your Voice’, the latter in praise of democracy despite the appalling rise of Farage recently.
   Nigel Stonier (‘ a bad time to be called Nigel’ quipped Thea) gave us the remarkable back-story of the album and how it had been rejected by three record companies before they decided to go it alone and Thea ‘became a label’.
   It actually rose to 16 in the charts in the first fortnight of release and number 1 in the Americana charts here. This is quite odd as , apart from ‘The Loading Game’, the influence of Irish folk is stronger.
   She ended a captivating concert with ‘Karr’s Lament’, such a subtly descriptive song –
  ‘ And the smell of the earth
Where the storm has broken’   
   A sadly joyful one, with a chorus to echo within like the sound of waves at night in a coastal town.
   To claim that Thea has now been acknowledged and recognised may be a little premature ;in the past, her songs ‘ That’ll be Christmas’ and ‘London’ ( with Sandy Denny’s words) had a lot of radio airplay.
   Yet this album , more than any other, speaks about our troubled times without any ranty, shouty directness, which can be so off-putting. 
   If Thea were just a great lyricist then the road would be laid. As it is, she has the music, voice and musicians to match.
   The road rises up ahead – ‘I’ll still be using my voice’ she sings.
   It would be heartening to think that many will tread, upward and onward, to a place of rare sights, to the summit.
 
                                                  COMMON, EXTRAORDINARY
 
I was on my way downhill
Another day’s trudge to drudgery
On a dark winter morning
With the black hole and its tip
Looming across the valley.
 
Under the road bridge
Where pigeons nest in gaps
And the traffic’s groans and sighs
Vibrate above my head ;
Black cat graffiti silhouette.
 
Suddenly, on a street-lamp
A blackbird sings into the nowness
Duped by the brightness
Yet still such a tune
I could only stop and listen.
 
No times to be met,
No appointments or forms :
A common bird so extraordinary
That past and future ceased,
One hand clapping, my applause.
​

​ 
   In the light of Farage’s policies to privatise the NHS , it would seem churlish to complain about our health service here in Cymru, yet my recent experiences have opened up the proverbial can of worms ( do worms ever come in cans?), and it was a letter from a limited company based in Preston, Lancs which did so.
   About a month ago it arrived and my first reaction was that it was a scam.
   It instructed me to attend an appointment at the Opthalmology Dept. at the Royal Glamorgan Hospital at 2 pm on a Sunday.
   Now, I do know that health is a devolved matter and also that Labour are supposed to be against privatisation…..so this threw me!
   I phoned Prince Charles Hospital in Merthyr, where I’ve attended the eye clinic for the last 15 years as a glaucoma sufferer ; though I’ve noticed in the last couple of years that I’ve had to contact them asking for an appointment.
   Phoning them proved impossible as you now get through to a central call centre and I ended up on hold for a very long time.
   When I phoned the Preston firm they told me they were acting on behalf of PCH as their waiting lists were too long, but assured me they’d switch my appointment from Royal Glam to PCH.
   Over a month later, I’ve heard nothing.
   When I put these details up on Facebook many people responded with far worse stories of not being seen at all, being referred to private hospitals who didn’t deal with their medical problem and even to high street opticians. Some had received the same letter and duly gone to the Royal Glam.
   As an eye patient you can’t drive because of the eye-drops administered which ( for those who do drive) makes things difficult.
   For the rest of us, Sunday transport is erratic or , in the case of my area , non-existent!
   What was worrying was the assertion by many that there was no Ophalmology left in PCH and only consultants based at Royal Glam.
   Many patients attending the eye clinic are elderly and should not have to travel such distances ,while buses to PCH are very regular during the week and it’s easily accessible.
   Even more concerning was the reaction from a friend who has been involved in the NHS throughout his life at a senior level. According to him the scenario could be even more disturbing, with the possibility of Opthalmology following the route of dentistry into ever-increasing  private care.
   These two fundamentals kept hammering away at my thoughts : why would a private company in England be deployed in out-sourcing when health is under WAG control and how could a Labour/LibDem administration in Cardiff justify paying a private company to carry out their dirty work?
   Surely, it isn’t even economic to do this, as anyone who complains will have to be relocated.
   I contacted our Labour AM Dawn Bowden who wrote  - ‘…this is a temporary measure that has been put in place to deal with a considerable UK wide backlog with glaucoma follow up treatments.’
   The key here is ‘UK wide’ and this suggests that suddenly , and inexplicably, health is no longer a devolved issue.
   I have now contacted our Plaid Cymru AM Delyth Jewell in the hope that she can obtain more clarity on the matter and assure me that I will get a local appointment as promised.
   All this came at a time of family illnesses where the whole system seemed at breaking-point.
   At our surgery it was always possible to phone after 8 am and get an appointment on the day.
   Now everything goes through answer machines urging you to go online and when you reach a ‘Care Navigator’ any appointment can be as far away as a week.
     Of course, I realise that austerity and impending Brexit have influenced all this, but the fact is that GPs can earn as much working part-time for a week as most teachers over a month and , as with education, the system has far too many managers and not enough hands-on staff.
   As an avowed socialist I want the unfinished business of one Nye Bevan to be fully completed and that means no privatisation whatsoever.
   Consultants need to dedicate all their time to the NHS not private surgeries and nobody should be forced to ‘go private’ because of long waiting-lists for operations.
   As with education, power must be distributed along with wages, so all those involved are making decisions.
   Traditionally ( and the latest variety’s no different) Labour have been committed to top-down organisation , with an inherent suspicion of real democracy which empowers workforce and patients.
   The vast majority of those who work in Cymru’s NHS are hard-working and dedicated, with many who’ve come from abroad to make their lives here.
   Ophthalmology could realistically be devolved to various health hubs such as Keir Hardie Health Park in Merthyr, but that doesn’t seem to be the plan ( if there is one!).
    Labour rule in the nation which produced and inspired Nye Bevan reflects the state of Britain itself : devoid of a vision for the future.
 
                              STILL  WAITING  TO  HEAR
Fifteen years of glaucoma
Inherited from my grandmother,
Though I much prefer
Her ancient typewriter
And love of poetry
I used to read aloud
When she couldn’t see properly.
 
Now a letter from a Preston company
Which I think is a scam,
Knowing our health service
Is supposed to be a Welsh one.
 
It tells me to travel
20 miles for a Sunday afternoon
Appointment but not to drive
Because of the eye-drops
(Luckily, I don’t drive anyway) ;
Though the buses are beyond.
 
Being a full-time member
Of the Stroppy Sods Brigade
I complain to Prince Charles
( Hospital and not Windsor)
And I’m on hold endlessly.
 
Then the limited company
Assure me it’ll be rearranged,
But I’m still waiting to hear……
As our Labour rulers blame the Tories
Ranting against appalling privatisation
As if it weren’t happening here.

   At this time of greatest division and apparent emptiness, my hometown of Merthyr Tudful sees its most extraordinary cultural highpoint.
   It’s almost as if….out of all this distress and depression many are insisting – ‘We can create. The yellow poppy will grow in the cracks of the most run-down street.’
   Our proud history may have been buried in an Anglo-centric curriculum fashioned by a Labour/LibDem administration in Cardiff Bay, yet the Rising Festival has become the focus of the year and every few weeks there are music and poetry open mics along the High Street from top to bottom with no support from the Council.
   Rock bands like the Moonbirds, Florence Black and Pretty Vicious spread their sounds wider, while singer-songwriters such as Bryony Sier and Jamie Bevan are modern troubadours in English and Welsh respectively.
   The humour of Anthony Bunko’s plays and Gus Payne’s brilliant figurative oil paintings totally confound the hackneyed condemnations by sections of the media who depict the town as a wasteland.
   Last year saw the release of a ground-breaking album by the Merthyr artist Kizzy Crawford ( of Aberfan), namely ‘Birdsong / Cân yr adar’.
   I’ve followed her emergence with great interest and enjoyed her experimentation with loops and mellow jazz, but didn’t expect anything as ambitious.
   It’s bold, bi-lingual and adventurous : at a time when so many artists depend on single songs to hook listeners, this is a concept album.
   The theme is the Welsh rainforests of Carngafallt in Powys and it’s very much a collaboration between Kizzy, Bangor-born jazz pianist Gwilym Simcock  and the excellent amateur orchestra Sinfonia Cymru.
   Each song begins in English then seamlessly transforms into Welsh and if the lyrics are occasionally rather too sentimental, it is raised to levels of great emotional intensity by Kizzy’s flowing, feathered tones ( reminiscent of the superb Irish jazz-singer Christine Toibin), Simcock’s subtle phrasing and the ever-sensitive musicianship of the orchestra.
   The album’s journey is a celebration of the rich, vibrant life of these forests, leading Kizzy back to Africa and to a meditation on the power of nature to join all together as one.
   What I love about the album is – despite Kizzy’s obviously jazz-influenced vocals – the music defies genre : soul, classical, folk and jazz merge and emerge like birds appearing and disappearing among the trees…..even as their songs prevail.
   This is not an elegy for a lost world, rather a eulogy for one which exists and should be praised and prized as invaluable.
   Merthyr needs to laud past heroes like Gwyn Alf Williams, Glyn Jones and Leslie Norris, but also to fully acknowledge that our present contributions to Welsh culture are outstanding : uniquely innovative yet never pretentious.
   Indeed, there are exciting talents rising, such as Kizzy’s sister Eadyth who is featured on Geraint Rhys’s powerful new single ‘Old Age Don’t Come Alone’ and young poet Morgan Owen, from Heolgerrig, who has been resident poet on Radio Cymru and was recently commended in the Terry Hetherington Award for Young Writers for poems in English.
   Sooner or later the wider world will have to take notice of this sometimes connected, sometimes disparate ‘Merthyr movement’.
 
                                                 
                                                 WHA WE GOH YER?
 
 
Wha we goh in Merthyr?
 
Yeah, there’s loadsa bands,
poets, painters, singer-songwriters,
playwrights an graffiti artists,
there’s open mics an choirs…..
 
But wha we really goh yer?
 
I mean, mines an ironworks,
factrees an shops an clubs
ave all closed down ,
so wha’s-a bloody point
o songs an verse, ilarious drama?
 
Wha we goh in Merthyr?
 
Piss-artist , stroppy rebels
goh no respect f nothin,
too much bloody swearin
an stickin two fingers up
t evr’ryone in authoritee….
an tha’s jest-a poets an singers! 
​

     

   Okay, I can hear my rugby-following friends say…..here he goes again! But I do have a strange relationship with our so-called national game, as do most of my family ( my brother, who has lived in England for years, is devoted to it however).
   I recall at one of his excellent family gatherings a friend of his, a Kiwi, talking to a number of my immediate family and -, when he referred to the World Cup - being totally baffled by our consistently round-ball answers.
   I grew up playing footie on the streets of an Aberystwyth council estate and carried on in Cambridge, where I eventually represented the City as a right-footed left-winger like Junior Hoilett of my beloved Bluebirds, long before such things were entertained. Actually, my Primary school teacher was canny and knew there was a vacancy in that position, so picked me there for the school. Aged 10 and 11, that was the high-point of my ‘career’.
   From the ages of 11-18 I played both football and rugby for my Grammar school, starting as outside half then shifting to centre where, some games, I hardly saw the ball. We mostly played rugby against posh private schools and in our side were several boys from originally Welsh families ( 2 Morgan’s, 2 Jones’s and me).
   On the coach home after one game, one of the Jones’s ( a huge second row forward) sexually propositioned me. I was frightened and disgusted and avoided him completely from then on.
   Scrum and three-quarters were two separate worlds : scrum from middle-class backgrounds and the backs were football-loving lads with more working-class or rural backgrounds. I identified with them……more so after the Jones incident!
  In the 6th form I played, but with increasing lack of enthusiasm.
  On Sundays I was playing football for a local factory team made up of men and youths from neighbouring villages and I thrived on it. We often played on quagmires against teams including baldy, paunchy players ( I had hair then).
   At Uni I only played football and my associations with rugby were tenuous. The rugby boys indulged in ludicrous drinking games and none shared my passions for poetry and politics.
   I shared digs with two ‘rugger’ obsessed private schoolboys, who oozed a sense of arrogance and entitlement, even though both were from Cardiff.
   On the other hand, most of my mates were football fans from the north of England.
   At an inter-college Eisteddfod I was punched violently in the back by a rugby student for nothing other than my wayward dress sense.
   Yet apparently my grand-dad ( originally from Cilfynydd) had been a really good rugby player……so it wasn’t as if it was a family thing. My parents weren’t interested in either sport.
   Returning to Cymru at 18 to live with my gran in Barri , I soon started following Cardiff City.
   Occasionally, when matches were postponed because of bad weather, I’d wander into the Arms Park to watch the rugby and was bemused at the lack of atmosphere, players slo-mo in a swamp and overall tedium.
   I’ve since tried hard to identify with our national team, yet on the couple of occasions I’ve attended internationals things haven’t helped : it’s one thing being surrounded by pissed fans, but quite another being pissed on from the stand above like a downpour of acid rain!
    Teaching in a Merthyr school added to this dislike, where male rugby-mad staff talked endlessly about all the crazy antics of match-days ( many illegal) , yet not so much about the nuances of the actual games.
   This attitude was summed up once when the Bluebirds were playing the same day as Wales rugby team. On the train home I asked an inebriated couple the score and they didn’t know! This would be anathema to football fans, where the game takes precedence.
   With our success in the Euros and that unique opportunity for fans from all over Cymru to get together for a tournament, I became more and more convinced that it was, in reality, the game for all the nation and rugby had become the property of the establishment.
   Rugby’s stadium is absurdly named the Principality; yes, after a building society, but still signifying our lack of national pride. William Windsor is seen as representative of the team, at the same time as being President of the English FA!
  The three feathers badge is inextricably associated with the British military and also English royalty. Any number of excuses can’t disguise its fawning nature compared to football’s dragon badge.
   Above all, football fans have begun to organise themselves in recent years as a serious force for independence : highlighting its positivity rather than the tired old platitudes of ‘As long as we beat the English’ ( and didn’t the Stereophonics attend Carlo’s Buckers bash not long ago?).
   For all its faults, the FAW has been fiercely independent, especially in rejecting Team GB during the London Olympics.
   I am excited by Wales winning the Grand Slam , yet keep thinking about the negative responses towards our Yes Cymru stall in Merthyr from rugby fans, who seemed ‘daffs for the day’.
   Rugby seems politically to represent an overwhelming nostalgia, while football is more of a dynamic force looking to the future.
   I’d like rugby to change radically but cannot see the fans organising as football fans do. There is a strong history in football of fan power, from clubs being run by them like Swansea ( in the past), Newport and Wrecsam and the creativity of fanzines. It was, after all, our fans who changed the appalling rebrand at Cardiff City through many protests and not Chairman Tan’s mother!
   Maybe…….just maybe…..with prominent socialist republicans like writer and artist Sion Tomos Owen involved in the media coverage there is hope……I’d like to think so.
 
                                         DRAGONS  ‘N’  DAFFS
Ee woz dressed as a dragon
an she wore daffodil ead-gear.
 
 
They wen’  t Cardiff
to  watch-a  big game ,
 
 
they got so rat-arsed
they didn know nothin,
 
 
but somebuddy tol em arfta
about-a Gran’ Slam.
 
 
They’d  felt so lush
with Prince Wills in-a crowd ,
 
 
three feathers on theyer jerseys
like they wuz in-a army.
 
 
Tha stadium named arfta
theyer own buildin society.
 
They wen’  t  bed in Wayuls,
but woke up in-a G.B.   
​

 
   Pan fues i 11  cytunais i gwrdd â fy mam yn y caffi yng ngorsaf bysiau Caergrawnt. Does dim byd rhyfeddol am hynny basech chi'n meddwl ond....y tro cyntaf erioed oedd hi a hefyd des i syth yn ôl i Loegr ar ôl gwyliau yn Aberystwyth.
   Roeddwn i'n fachgen annibynnol siŵr o fod, achos mod wedi teithio o Aber i Gaergrawnt ar fy mhen fy hun.
   Eisteddodd fy mam yn y caffi bach yn wisgo dillad pinc neu goch fel arfer.
Teimlais i dipyn bach yn ofnus, er bod fy mam yn gwenu.
   Ond, aeth hi yn syth at y targed.
   ' Mike.....ry'n ni'n dal y bws i'n tŷ newydd ym mhentref bach o’r enw Horseheath. Dw i wedi penderfynu ar adael dy dad, ac mae e'n dal i fyw yn y ddinas. Beth wyt ti'n meddwl amdano?'
   Ces i sioc fawr ond....doeddwn i ddim wedi gweld fy nhad cymaint dros dair blynedd,  ers  iddo cael cwrs fel llyfrgellydd yn Loughborough.
   Gwelais i fwy o’n lletywr ni, dyn busnes yn cael cymaint o sylw oddi wrth fy mam!
  Dweud y gwir, doeddwn i ddim yn agos at fy rheini o gwbl : fy nhad gyda phroblemau iechyd meddwl a mam gyda blaenoriaethau eraill. Yn union, roeddwn i’n  fwy agos at fy neiniau a theidiau.
   Roedd fy mhen fel nyth gwenyn : swnllyd iawn a llawn symudiad.
   Doedd enw'r pentref ddim yn swnio 'n ddeniadol : 'Horseheath'.
   Dw i ddim yn cofio fy ateb y diwrnod hwnnw, ond cofio'r daith mewn bws trwy le ar ôl lle : taith i fywyd newydd.



                          JAMIE YN Y CAFFI
 
‘ Shwmae !’ i bawb
meddai Jamie yn y Caffi
lle cwrdd â chyfeillion,
yn coginio Pice ar y  maen,
mae Twt Lol tu ôl i’r gwydr.
 
 
Does dim ‘ lentyls mewn cawl’
ar ei fwydlen ddwyieithog
ac mae’r gitâr yn eistedd
fel Prifardd pwysig
yn barod am y cleddyf.
 
 
Mae e’n siarad nawr
am ei fywyd newydd
heb ffiniau fel y môr,
gan anelu at lawysgrif cerdd
ar yr hen orwelion.
​

​

   If you haven't heard of Swansea singer-songwriter Geraint Rhys, then you've really missed out on someone special.
   Like Thea Gilmore in England and Scotland's Karine Polwart Rhys has great variety to his work, but isn't afraid to tackle political issues, never resorting to simplistic sloganeering.
   He confronts alienation, austerity and the threat of factory closure in songs like 'Ta Ta Tata', 'Give it Up' and 'The Lost Generation'.
   In his latest single 'Old Age Don't Come Alone' he writes a gutsy blues song from the viewpoint of his Nan, a fitting elegy to her.
  The stirringly passionate single 'Visca la Terra' is a homage to the Catalan independence movement and his short, prize-winning film of the same name looks thoughtfully at the intimate connections between songs and liberation there.
   The music of 'Ta Ta Tata' and its iconoclastic video moves skillfully between punk and  slower more gentle sections , as if between steel and the sea.
   In a world of music where celebrity rules, Rhys is a unique voice who deserves to be heard far more widely : an intelligent and musically eclectic artist.
   As well as 'Ta Ta Tata' he has released other singles yn Cymraeg including 'Dilyn' and 'Ble Mae'r Haul?' which illustrate the sheer power of his vocals.
   Just as the Indie movement seems on the verge of a breakthrough, so too the remarkable music of Geraint Rhys.

   I conducted this interview with him recently...........


​1. How long have you been writing and singing songs and what inspired you to start?

I’ve always been fascinated with words and have written from a very young age. Whether it be poems or short stories I’ve always had an active imagination which has been expressed some way or another.
Music is something that connects with us all and is often beyond something we can explain. It often saves me, so I started writing songs about 6 years ago and since then haven’t stopped.  

2. What place do your excellent videos have and are you mainly responsible for producing them?

An imperative part of my work is to couple my songs with a strong visual narrative. When it comes to making the videos, I’ll have an idea of what I want to convey in relation to the track then I will find videographers, directors etc whose work I like and approach them and see if we can work something out. I am lucky to have worked with so many talented people.
As an independent artist I am solely responsible for every creative decision I make which is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand I control everything so I don’t have anyone else trying to manipulate my vision, but it would be nice for someone else to take control of many of the practical things when making a music video so that I didn’t have to. It is hard work but always worth it and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

3. What are your politics and are these views vital to your songs?

I’ve never pledged allegiance to any political party so I guess I am a political nomad in that sense. I would say I am on the left of the spectrum, but I don’t even know what that means in the context of Wales or the UK anymore. What does piss me off though is how we live in a society of immediate outrage . I am guilty of it too, but no one has much time for context these days. Once something happens it's like a race to see who can get their opinions out there first without spending time to understand the whole picture . That’s what’s great about writing a song, you really have time to sit down and shape your thoughts.

4. Do you prefer to record in Welsh or English and why?

I don’t have a preference, whenever I sit down to write it will come out in either language and then I will just go with it. What I won’t do though is release a track in English then release it in Welsh just to get a royalties cheque or to appear on Heno. It annoys me when artists do that.

5. What do you think of Yes is More and would you take part in such events?

I think the visibility of Welsh Independence is only a positive thing. I sang at a solidarity rally for Catalunya that Yes for Wales organised so it’s great to see a social movement which is vibrant and seems to be gaining support. For a healthy political debate we need as many dissenting voices as possible. If there was a vote for independence tomorrow I would vote yes

6. ‘Visca la Terra’ was both a song and prize-winning film. How did this come about and what was the impact in Catalunya?

I have a long-standing relationship with Catalunya. I have very good friends over there who I’ve known for almost ten years who are very active in the pro-independence movement. So I’ve visited quite a lot and have been over to play some gigs. I wrote the song and released it a few weeks before the independence referendum and didn’t expect to get the response I did. It was featured on many radio stations and playlists and made it on to many of the news blogs and channels. It currently has over 100,000 views on you-tube so I couldn’t be happier with the response it's had.

7. Like me you’re a big football fan. Does this influence your work at all?

I have yet to write a football song yet, but who knows. Maybe I’ll leave that to John Barnes. Football is political. Take my beloved Swans for example. We have gone from being a soviet type club ran by the fans and local businessmen to a capitalist venture ran by two Americans. It is a cross section of the best and worst of society.

8. Your latest single is ‘Old age don’t come alone’(featuring Eadyth from my hometown of Merthyr). What’s the background to this?

Like all my tracks I never start off with a genre, it’s something that develops over time. So with this track, after my grandmother passed away I started to write some words as a dedication to her life and when I picked up the guitar, the riff came naturally and seemed to resonate with the words perfectly. Losing someone is such an intimate and emotional experience and always produces intense forms of expression. In this song, I tried to capture that intensity. The track is completely an ode to her and for the artwork I had to pick one of my favourite photos of her playing my old drum kit.
 
9. Your music draws from all kinds of forms from the punk in ‘Ta Ta Tata’ to Blues in the new single. Do you relish this eclecticism?

It’s what keeps me interested. Important to me is that my music tells a story and I blur genres to reflect the diversity of topics that I sing about. I would get very bored if I just wrote 12 folk songs, or 10 country songs. I have to enjoy making music otherwise what’s the point? Because my own choice of music is so eclectic this is naturally reflected in the songs I sing.
 
10. To me your voice is powerful and distinctive. Does it suit certain types of songs, or would you like to do more slower ballads for example?

I have written slower songs and will likely to do so in the future. I wouldn’t want to restrict myself by saying no.

11. Place is also important to your work - especially the videos - do you identify with your home town, or working-class areas generally?

I think place plays an important role in so many creative people’s work, no matter the art-form. Growing up in Swansea where the grittiness of the urban streets collides with the beauty of Swansea bay, there is inspiration on every corner.



12. Is social media your main platform, or do you prefer videos or live shows?

Well, you must do all of it to remain relevant. I’ve played hundreds of gigs over the years and do love that feeling when you really connect with an attentive audience. Nothing beats it. Last year I played some amazing gigs which were packed with the audience completely engaged. But you can easily go from playing a gig like that to a gig in a pub with a handful of half-interested punters. So it’s always hit or miss.



13. Are you planning a new album which brings together all the singles in Welsh and English and tour to accompany it?

The reality for an independent artist is that if you want to keep on producing high quality music something must give. It’s not cheap to record music and then to distribute it. Equally, hardly anyone buys music anymore so you have to compete with that. I will definitely be releasing another single in the next few months with a new video so keep your eyes peeled!



                                         BETWEEN STEEL & LEARNING
                                             for Geraint Rhys

On Aberafan beach
the long slim penstroke
not yet a 'C'
between bilging chimneys
and postcode towers -
I am 66 today
and bones go clickety-click
like so many stones
in the rising sea
yet here it's calm
in the January sun
as we walk together
my wife, daughter and I
in a place forgotten and found -
where there are shells
like ones I'd collect and sketch
so meticulously
I name them like a spell
'razor , oyster and mussel'
they're not relics though
but sculptures of the times
of waters clear again
of my daughter gathering them
of the sea whispering
the choices between
steel and learning.
     

    The six images here are all recent examples of graffiti art in Merthyr Tudful, my home town; a form which seems to have proliferated since the infamous Banksy in Taibach, Port Talbot, with its commentary on pollution and innocence.
   Not a Banksy in sight of course, but my garage wall is available should your man from Brizzle decide to do a picture of a pijin like Wayne-O Pijin (sadly deceased).
   The first one's situated by the walkway over the weir, not far from the College and , assuming the little lad could be holding a gun, its politics could be construed as dubious. Having said that, it certainly stands out and the scruffy urchin is seemingly androgynous! 
   The second is tiny and just to the left of the iron heart where the Merthyr Rising Festival holds its main events. On this gable-end was once a mural celebrating the festival, which was then graffitied over with 'FE GODWN NI ETO' ( we will rise again), a statement which berated the distinct lack of Welsh or , indeed, blatantly revolutionary material at the Festival. Fascists then responded and added 'NF' in black below this.
   More recently was a red flag mural which redressed the balance and placed the Festival very much as a remembrance of 1831; but this was sadly removed.
   What the small graffiti here does is to link a heavy metal gesture with the festival, rock with politics, and to keep it in our minds till it begins again in May this year.
   The 19th century gent doing a Mary Poppins impression is the infamous engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunel, the man who made the old railway station in Merthyr, now immortalised on the outside wall of Tesco.Strange choice in Pontmorlais, so close to an engine commemorating the achievements of Richard Trevithick.
   The Lennon and 'Trainspotting' ones are very different and take their place on the boarded-up windows of the long derelict YMCA building, which promises to be something.....one day, maybe.
   And finally, the one on a bus-station window......black and white like the two-tone music of the 1980s. Even though they are Samuel L. Jackson and John Travolta from 'Pulp Fiction', I like to think of them as symbols of solidarity.
   I notice the blurry couple behind them waiting for the bus to Troedyrhiw and beyond, keeping their distance though.
   Graffiti has always played a role in my writing and the protagonist of my totally unacclaimed adult novel ('The Fugitive Three') Shell is an aspiring graffiti artist. She's only beginning to have visions of what she can do.
   My first book in Merthyr dialect was 'Graffiti Narratives' and the long title poem is split into two sections with verbal graffiti as headings. These two sets of graffiti were well-known in the town and were either side of the railway bridge as you leave High Street towards Pentrebach.
   On one side was ' UP TO £50,000 GO FISH' and the other ' STRIP HAIR,I, JUNK ROT PLACEBO'.
   Our Council years ago were only too happy to rid the place of these messages which fired my imagination so.
   They were certainly two of the strangest and most thought-provoking sets of graffiti anywhere , though I don't think CADW were interested in preserving them!  


                                ANONYMOUS  BOSCH
 
 
When Banksy come t Merthyr
nobuddy bleeved it woz im –
why would ee come yer
when ee’d done P’Talbot las year?
 
It woz a picture of an ewge pijin
cackin on this grey pointy tower,
a bird with attitude
flown straight from-a bus station.
 
It woz on-a wall up Swonzee Road
on-a way t Trago,
perfectly picked s people knew –
it caused a right commotion.
 
Thousands visited, took selfies,
Council done fuckall as always –
it woz on-a News
an front page of-a ‘Merthyr’.
 
One landowner sayd-a wall woz is,
but-a Council claimed it,
put up a screen an fencin,
CCTV an ev’rythin.
 
Till this local graffiti artist
sayd ee done it, Anonymous Bosch
ee called isself……
then nobuddy give a toss.
 
Council withdrew, telly disappeared,
it’s still there jest as clear  -
owner o Trago wan’s it covered up,
‘Filthy disgustin muck!’  

   Looking out the window at midnight and seeing the stillness of settled snow, it glows with a light which brings back many memories....
    Of my children haring down the slopes of the Waun at the back of our house on toboggans.
   ( Now the place is eerily deserted despite the schools being off).
   Of my friend and fellow 'loopy' English teacher Pete Smith taking every descent with total abandon on only a black rubbish bag.
   Of the Beacons and my older daughter Bethan speeding all the way downhill through an open gate and onto the A470 below, whilst myself and my son tumbled half way down.
   Above all, of the times when my two girls were born, both December days of heavy snowfall.
   Bethan over the mountain in so-called 'snake country' of Aberdare and Niamh ( as befits a Bluebird) in the Heath.
   The first in notorious 1982, when it was the biggest fall of my lifetime and a neighbour kindly came over with blow-torch to unfreeze our ancient, inefficient central heating vent.
   Even last year was memorable, as we returned from Bethan's wedding in India to blizzards at Heathrow , but somehow made it home thanks to my wife's single-mindedness, only for our combi boiler to go on the blink and a frantic search for a suitable engineer despite the white-out.
   Despite such calamities I've always loved the snow and even at a writing course I once tutored at Totleigh Barton in Devon, we took time out between stanzas to borrow trays from the kitchen and slide down empty country roads.
   As a teacher, a single flake whispered the promise of a day off.
   One Head who regularly refused to close soon regretted it when he left his car in the school car park overnight only to find the very expensive sports car trashed the next day! After that, he'd close up after a couple of flakes!
   Growing up in Aber I've no memories of early childhood snow whatsoever and then in Cambridge and its Shire there was a distinct lack of hills nearby, though we did play risky football on a frozen pond.
   Only since living up here on Aberdare mountain have we all appreciated the seasonal playground.
   It's a chance to become one with memories: to roll the years into a tight ball and hurl them with joy and mischief. A chance to watch them break up into tiny particles of laughter.

                         JOINING  THE  V

Her back's bent
she stares groundwards,
the old border collie
tugs her hubby round
Bryn Bach is mostly frozen
as mallards balance
on thin ice,
a flock of Canada geese
root out food below snow -
her two Nordic sticks
are vital extra arms,
she's determined as moorhens
finding warmer pools.

In her dreams she flies
south to her grandchildren
many continents away
from treacherous paths, 
towards suns of smiles
she swims and glides
watching the grey glaze
of the lake disappear,
joining the V, higher and higher. 

  

   This is a tale of three Heads : not a three-headed monster but.....it could be!
   I'm certain that somewhere there exists a good Headteacher, but in all my teaching career spanning over 30 years I never came across one.
   I've blogged previously about the urgent need for democracy not autocracy in education, so I don't want to repeat myself. Suffice it to say that it simply does not work having one person at the top and ostensibly in total control.
   If we need to educate young people for genuine democracy then schools and colleges must be the starting-points : let them learn to make executive decisions alongside staff ; give them the power to act responsibly and vitally, to learn from mistakes.
   By way of examples here are three actual cases, two of which are on-going -
   The first involves a Head still in charge of a large Cardiff school ( not where I used to teach, by the way).
   He's highly regarded by the local authorities and would be given the title ' Super-Head' in fact.
   Yet what this person did was to instruct a whole department to falsify their results for GCSE coursework and when one staff member refused she was forced out of the school.
   Of course, we are still living in an era where results (especially at GCSE) are paramount and determine what colour ( or grading) the school gets according to Leighton Andrews' 'traffic light' system.....an alternative  form of league tables. 
   Pressures on schools to improve results are enormous and - as I've blogged before - this destroys the very essence of education : sheer enjoyment in learning and discovering.
   The second case goes back to the 1990s and the overriding desire to make a school into an 'achieving one'. and also this Head's personal ambitions above all else.
   Once again, this person actively encouraged blatant cheating yet was never sanctioned as a consequence, despite the fact that the whistle was blown and the Education Dept conducted an enquiry into it.
   In this instance the Head actually taught an English class who, despite being a top set, all produced the self-same essay, dictated to them by that person.
   The Head then told the Head of Dept ( an inspirational teacher) that he had to let those results stand.
   This Head of Dept soon left the profession to become a librarian, largely because of  what happened! A huge loss to education.
   That Head carried on at the school for many years, bullying those who refused to tow the line and making them leave.
   Lastly, there is a similar case of a bullying Head who progressed rapidly in terms of promotion, despite a lack of teaching experience and without marking pupils' work properly.
   Because of his incessant bullying he drove a number of very good teachers to utter despair and , following this, got promoted to the powerful job of Challenge Advisor, enabling him to deploy that bullying against whole schools and also to appoint his cronies to many posts.
   People may assume I've been tainted by my naturally rebellious nature in my views here, yet I speak from experience as my very first job was in a school where the Head was an alcoholic who used to physically abuse pupils violently and became 'over-friendly' with female staff of an afternoon after a few lunchtime drinks.
   Indeed, most other teachers and ex-teachers I know share my views on Heads.
   I'm not saying the system can be reformed though.
   It needs a revolution  as it reflects the shamocracy of our society itself : consultation is minimal and people on the chalk-face ( digital-whiteboard now) are seen by government and councils as not to be trusted.
   Until power's distributed, the system is wide open to the cheating and bullying I have described.
   With the focus increasingly on results at any cost and at the expense of creativity, such practices will continue virtually unchecked.
   Sadly, those who rise to the top are the very Yes-men or -women who place their own ambition before everything.  


                                  IT'S  CALLED  EDUCATION
​

Contrary to Floyd's 'brick in the wall'
most teachers actually like children
and desire to inspire them.

Those who don't just want
to get out of the classroom :
they are called Heads.

Heads who find they can't stand
the staff who to them are problems
become Challenge Advisors.

Challenge Advisors make their living
out of bullying the teachers
they used to find really annoying.

If they fail enough teachers
because of the results of ludicrous tests,
they end up with promotion.

They are then called Inspectors
who go into the same schools
and find everything wrong with them.

The teachers just cannot be inspiring
as they're busy training kids for exams.
And we call this 'Education'.